In the Midst of Madness
by prosemeds
Summary: "How did we end up here again?" 8x15 Insert.
A/N: I sat on this way longer than I should've. Sorry. Ep Insert for 8x15.

* * *

 _How did we end up here again?_

Her mind thumbs through the memories. All of them, everything.

It's a timeline unraveling, her steps falling into familiar footprints that haven't shallowed. This territory, cycle. Recognizing it singes her spirit more than the whiskey flooding into her stomach sore with guilt and frustration. She asks herself the same question, _how_ , and beats herself with the same answer.

This is just what they're good at.

The lip of the bottle clinks against her glass. Another dose sloshes in, sloppy, drips streaking down the sides. Swig after swig hardens Beckett's stance against the doorway, propped against the shelf. It's impossible to discern if the numbness is from the drinking. Could be the gravity of the circumstances. Maybe just a matter of tapping into old habits, the temptation to recoil and retreat rekindling inside. To shut out.

She fights it, though. Desperate to deal. The search for acceptance has been festering in her since Castle confessed, and now it aches, reminds her that she does not dwell with the monsters anymore. She knew enough to listen to the desire to come home. To be together.

That's why she's here. Even just for silence.

"The whole time," she mutters behind the tumbler. Unmoving, retaining her resolve as the information unloads on her chest, her eyes glance at her husband across the room where he's propped himself on the edge of his desk. His drink sits beside him. Abandoned.

Even in his haze he seeks her out, only able to look at her.

His steady blues alight in the darkness never waver. Not for a second. _I know_ , they seem to agree. _It's a mess_.

Even when she breaks contact to bow her head, she's sure he won't look away. These feelings aren't foreign to her, so too for him. They've played both sides of the coin. There's nothing to hide, no surprises. No true blame.

But she can't look at him for long, not with all the noise. Not with the chaos cramming into her thoughts.

 _Forgive me._

 _Are you a part of this?_

 _I thought you were in trouble. Instead, I find out you've been lying to me._

 _I was trying to protect you._

 _By lying to me about the most important thing in my life?_

 _That lie was keeping you safe._

 _You know that already, don't you?_

 _From who?_

 _From yourself._

Pushing herself up and off the shelf she folds her arms, circling the office with her wrist twirling, the amber liquid sweeping along the clear walls that contain it. She has to process this gun trained on them, even if she's drowning in the details that are more than she can count, more than she can cope with at once. So she filters through her thoughts and swallows the odds, the serrated reality of what's happened and what can happen.

She can't wash their sins away with scotch. Can't stop their shadows from creeping again, the demons from their haunting company.

But something needs to dull this knife jutted in her throat.

 _Fuck_.

She shoves the glass rim between her lips, cutting through to throw back whatever's left to drink. Gritting her teeth, shaking off the bitterness and bite of the alcohol, she returns to the cart to retrieve the nearly empty bottle.

"Kate."

Her heart pauses before her body does, relenting to his voice as it reels her to stop. The call is devoid of demand, of control, but it reaches her in earnest as he continues. "Sit with me."

"I just need to process," she tosses over her shoulder, defending before any shot fires. Her feet are perched right at the edge. And she's swaying, shaking, ready to tip over the ledge at any given moment.

"I know," he lulls, like he's anchoring her, but as soft and safely as he can.

The weight of everything slumps over her body, sand suffocating her limbs as she pivots towards him. His narrow eyes study her with care. Oh. No. They're–

They're taut for the tears gleaming in his lids.

She leaves her cup on the closest corner of her desk, quick to return his stare as she goes to him, steps long, full beats to fill the seconds until either speak again. He extends his arm out before she's near enough, pulling her closer than where she might've stopped. _No-no. Don't._

Fear winds in her chest and up her throat, holding her breath to kill the sob starting to shuffle in it. She's fragile, drained. And his touch might finally break her.

"Can I say one thing?" he says, holding her hands in one of his, while the other tends to her neck, rising up to cup her cheek. It's soothing to her skin, but agony twines around her soul in seeing the guilt up close. The pain he bears. She _knows_ it.

"Castle, if this is headed for an apology–" she starts, smoothing her hand over his, but the palm nestles into the curve of her face, reigning her focus to draw her closer, the words she had left to say smacking the floor.

"I can't…justify any of this, but the intentions…the _degree_ that we're both clearly willing to go…I'll suffer if that means you don't. Just like you'll suffer if that means I won't."

He liberates the pooling tears she's held onto, but her composure keeps solemn, resisting the break down despite the sorrow she scrubs off of her cheeks. Her jaw clenches and lids shut, tilting her head to brush her lips over his hand. Once she pulls away, she expels the air caught tangled in her chest, figuring out how to breathe like this.

It's the prospect of another threat heavy over them both that destroys her, a whole new storm to survive that rattles the strength in her heart, the same faltering faith she meets when her eyes open again to see his. But she's gonna ride right into the madness to master its method. End it. And he will too.

That's who they are.

Without another word to offer he stands, looking back after her as he pads into their bedroom, shedding his clothes, but fumbling in his hazed efforts. His struggle beckons her over, replacing his fingers with hers to undo the buttons, stripping off his coat, his shirt, and slips on another that she fetches from the chair.

If only their grievances were as easy to wear and remove.

Lingering hands rake from his shoulders and down his chest, halting where his heart thumps hardest, grounding her in this moment.

"Rick," she whispers, the life in his name weak. Pressing her forehead up to his, she shakes her head, fingers furling over the black fabric.

"I love you," he breathes, his brows furrowing against her, tense. "That's how we ended up here again–"

And he silences with her kiss.

Both bodies surrender to each other in reverence, apology, and forgiveness, allowing their love to proclaim what either could not. Not entirely.

Because Castle's absolutely right. They're here, again, because he loves her…but also because she loves him. Loving each other, in every power of the word.

And that's exactly what they're good at.


End file.
